The Story of Gawain and Ragnell by Ruth Nestvold Page A

muck and bone-shattering cold was involved in adventure.
    Gawain wiped a combination of sleet and dirt out of his face, accumulated spatter from the hooves of the horses around him. He caught his youngest brother Gareth gazing at him, an infectious grin on his face, as if this were the greatest adventure they had ever set off on together. Without looking, he knew Gaheris's expression would not be so merry. While Gareth saw everything through the distorted lens of his own good nature, including his well-loved wife — a woman most men would call a bitch or worse — Gaheris tended towards the opposite extreme, naturally seeing the worst in everything.
    Gawain hoped he fell somewhere between the two extremes represented by his surviving brothers. He was well aware that in the last few months he had tended more towards Gaheris's view of the world than Gareth's.
    Which was why he had welcomed the grueling journey, the exertion and exhaustion that had him concentrating more on physical discomfort than the emotional pain that would not leave him, the feeling of rejection and anger at Yseult's betrayal — how she had so readily agreed to Arthur's suggestion to marry the King of the Durotriges, when it was well known throughout Britain that she had no intention of marrying again. But while the freezing rain might have been a welcome distraction at first, now he just wanted it to stop. Perhaps losing one's patrimony was not such a bad thing if it meant escaping from this weather. Gawain and his brothers were the sons of Lot of Gododdin, and when their father rebelled, they sided with Arthur. Their loyalty to the Dux Bellorum, to Britain, had cost them their hereditary lands. After their father's death, the Gododdin kinship group had chosen one of their cousins to be king, rather than any of the "traitors" Gawain, Gaheris, or Gareth.
    As he pondered the kingdom that might have been his if not for his loyalty to Arthur, the cold, thick, sleeting mist began turning to snow. Gawain found himself smiling.
    His mount, Ceincaled, snorted and shook his head, and Gawain leaned forward to stroke the neck of his favorite stallion. "There, boy. Hopefully we won't have to spend much time in this irritating white stuff."
    The horse snorted again, louder this time, obviously agreeing.
     
    * * *
     
    Ragnell's family held a hill-fort known as Caer Camulodon on the old Roman road halfway between Deva and Eburacum. Situated near the border between Elmet and Rheged on the main road, strategically Caer Camulodon was of immense importance. Although at the moment, the road did not strike Gawain as anything resembling "main." In this region of small kingdoms, no one was powerful enough or responsible enough to be bothered with the maintenance of a paved road, and rather than being flat and even, for long stretches, it was full of such an impassible combination of stone and rainwater and muck, they had to ride next to the old road rather than on it, where a muddy, alternate path had developed.
    It felt strange to be heading in the direction of his former home again. Gawain had not been in this part of Britain since he had ridden with Arthur against the rebel kings in Din Eidyn — one of whom had been Gawain's own father. Over ten years ago now.
    As they began to climb the Pennine Mountains, Pabius rode abreast of him, cutting short Gawain's reflections on the past. "On the other side of the mountains, there is a monastery where your men can leave their war horses and find garments appropriate to the humble retinue of a priest. From there, it is perhaps another five miles to Caer Camulodon."
    Gawain grimaced. "I hope the monastery boasts mules that are both brave as well as strong."
    "I do not doubt it, my lord," Pabius said with a smile.
    Gawain patted Ceincaled's smooth hide. "I will miss you, true companion."
    Ceincaled tossed his head, making Gawain smile.
    "One other thing, Lord Gawain," the priest said. "In order to gain some time, it occurred to me